Problems
by BrookeAnderson
Summary: R&R: Bellamy/Clarke. Clarke's jealous among other things, creating a ripple in their partnership.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1:

Clarke hesitantly wiped the back of her hand across the permanent worry lines on her forehead. Thin beads of sweat smeared into her skin along with the remnants of crimson that lingered on her post-operation hands. Her tentative gaze met hazel eyes as she exited the drop ship, "I—I tried." She stammered, "But it…I couldn't save her." The boy looked at her as if it were her fault, as if somehow Clarke was the one who decided to venture out the gates despite multiple _warnings _and precedent rules only to be impaled by a sharpened spear—as if she were the one who fashioned and threw the spear that killed the girl laying on her medical table. Even as she managed the pulsating anger, frustration and exhaustion from her long night Clarke felt responsible in a way that did not make sense.

But she mostly felt angry because accidents such as late-night-rendezvous-turned-grounder-attacks in the forest should be prevented, should be _impossible_. If they were going to survive the winter, they needed to start _listening _instead of relishing in the former moto of the camp. "Whatever the hell we want" died with whatever ounce of youth she still had in her heart and it pissed her off that select few were still not convinced of its extinction. It fueled the fire, so to speak, when she watched Bellamy peck another one of his _girls _on the cheek as she exited his tent.

_Where the hell _was_ he? _

She longed for an initial metric unit of anger for his actions but she could not manage it. It made her alarmingly sad to watch him bid his goodbyes to the girl. She was the prettiest, by far, but Clarke imagined she was not smart. _God does not give with both hands_—somehow that saying prevented her from going completely postal every time she saw one of the slim brunettes sneak away in the middle of the night. Damn right she was jealous, although, she didn't know what she was specifically jealous of when it came down to it. Bellamy was attractive, denying it would be foolish but she never thought she would _want _him. A casual wink here, a sly comment there and she was under his spell unwittingly and quite unwillingly without much forethought or warning. It would be easy to pinpoint her jealousy directly to the girls who embarked and disembarked as he desired but the burning in her chest told her it did not end there. No, Clarke was also jealous of _him. _

Being a leader proved to be the hardest thing she'd ever done in her entire life. That being said, when Bellamy decided he was done for the day—he was typically done for the day. Oh, sure he had to worry about rations and battle strategy but she had to worry about health and wellness along with his daily worries. He had time to have a sex-life, although she would categorize his as a healthy sex life. It was damn near destructive, really. If she wasn't dealing with camp issues, she was dealing with medical issues and if she wasn't involved in either of those activities, she was attempting to sleep in preparations for those activities. She wanted what he had; a release.

Theoretically, it was a matter of time before she lost her mind. She was a sex-deprived, teenage doctor with raging family problems and a community to lead, who'd been in prison less than two months ago worrying about the 100% chance that she was going to be executed…and that was just the short version of her screwed up psyche. Unfortunately, she didn't have the luxury of a mental health day or an outlet. The only time she would ever be able to relax happened to be when she was six feet under with the rest of their dead.

Octavia jogged over to her, "I heard about Clarisse. Are you okay?" She was taken aback by the brunette's compassion. She simply nodded in response. "You don't look too good."

"I'm just tired." Clarke said, leaving out the _"of everything" _that begged to complete her statement. She tried to push Bellamy out of her mind for the sake of the camp. For the sake of the camp, she did not want to lose her temper and fight with him. In the same breath, she would explain that she desperately wanted to fight him. She wanted to slam her fists into his chest until he hissed with pain because it would make _her _feel better to know that he hurt, too.

Because he was going to be able to sleep tonight.

And she would just be lying awake looking at the holes in her tent.

Because he'd just been lost in a pleasurable moment.

And she couldn't save an innocent girl who just wanted to have a little fun with her boyfriend.

Her eyes narrowed when he moved into her line of sight as if she were drawing a target on his head—that perfect nest of unruly curls that needed to be tugged and tangled. She gritted her teeth, unaware that her eyes darkened at the sight of him. She heard Octavia release a breath, "Don't kill him." Her tone was dry as she departed.

Clarke whispered, "No promises."

_Fuck, Marry or Kill. _

The little game popped into her head as Bellamy moved closer to her. Odd, really, how she would even think of the game in a time like that. It was most likely because she was highly confused by the cocktail of emotions running through her head. His lips parted, his tongue darting out to wet them as he looked down at her. She blinked, "I don't want to talk to you."

"Good thing I don't care what you want. What happened?"

She exhaled, "I'm sure your guards could debrief you."

"I want you to debrief me. What _happened_?" He emphasized his question, small amounts of annoyance seeping through his calm demeanor. "Someone died and you're giving me the silent treatment? Very mature, Princess."

"Don't call me princess." Clarke growled before something clicked—or snapped—in her. The leader in her stepped forward, absolving her of the complicated feelings and leaving the ones that mattered. She was angry. She was betrayed. She was hurt. "Let's not talk about maturity, Bellamy. Let's talk about the fact that people aren't listening to a damn thing we say. They're still sneaking out of the gate and I think the next person should set an example. Not Jason, though." The hazel-eyed boy had been through enough tonight. "Clarisse was his girlfriend and I think he's feeling pretty punished right now."

"Good plan."

She rolled her eyes and scoffed, "Don't act so surprised."

"What is your problem with _me_?" He asked, "You weren't agitated when you were talking to Octavia. So, I'm taking this attitude personally…"

Clarke's jaw dropped, her eyes fluttering as if he should know. "You weren't there, Bellamy. How many times do I have to tell you I need you before it registers? You. Weren't. There. I can't do everything by myself so when someone sneaks out the gate and gets stabbed, I expect you to be _there _attempting to help and when someone dies…I don't expect you to be fucking one of your conquests. That's my problem and yes, please take it personally."

He reached forward and she was almost tempted to let him but she stepped back, her hands up held up as if she were prepared to push him away. "I'm sorry, Clarke."

"Not good enough."

**PLEASE REVIEW! **

**Feedback would be really nice!**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

Ice cold water trickled on her tense shoulders, leaving a wake of tiny bumps on her milky skin. Her nails bit into her shaking hands as she viciously scrubbed the blood from the crevices in her palm. The choppy pants turned into painful gasps as she scrubbed too hard, opening up her skin. "Dammit." She hissed, her hands falling to her side as she pressed her back against the slimy rock wall. The tears fell from her face and hit the water calf high pool below her. A defeated sob moved through her body as she thought of losing the Clarisse on her metal table.

_Keep it together._

_Keep it together._

_You can't break._

The dark navy color spread above her like a silky blanket, touched by the round yellowish moon wispy clouds. The white dots reminded her vaguely of Bellamy's freckles, how they scattered across the sky to make the most beautiful image she'd ever seen. She wanted to share this moment with someone—she didn't want to feel so lonely all the time. Honestly, she wanted to stop thinking about him while she was naked. She knew that she was a pitiful hypocrite, but as she let her knife lightly glide across her skin, erasing her hair growth with the help of Monty's white pepper, muria puama and camphor mixture, she felt _relaxed. _Her pleasure almost erased her guilt for setting rules and breaking them immediately after the pressure weighed on her.

She sighed, pulling her body out of her hide out to redress and return to camp.

She glanced around the spot she frequently used as an entrance and exit to camp. If Bellamy's Bitch Brigade caught her outside of the gate, they would surely report her—Miller probably leading the mob to his tent. She tentatively slid her leg through small opening, the toe of her boot smudging into the ground as she fought for a grip. It was a tight fit, mostly because of her curvy figure but she managed to push through. She paused, looking down at the dirt on her knees. She cursed because she felt like it was counterintuitive to take a shower only to get dirty once more. She heard the shuffling of fabric against the wood and metal behind her. She furrowed her eyebrows, placing her hand on her hip as she watched the skinny brunette push herself through the hole with ease. "Wow, Octavia…little late for a walk…" She raised her voice to scare the girl and maybe to get a little laugh out of it.

Octavia narrowed her eyes, "You aren't going to tell Bellamy, are you?"

Clarke turned the idea around in her head for a moment or two. _What Bellamy doesn't know, won't hurt him… _"No." She said flatly, "But I want you to know that we're planning on cracking down on these incidents."

"What is _he _going to do? Lock me under the floorboard?" Octavia crossed her arms defiantly, pursing her lips. Clarke wasn't in the mood to argue with her on policy or _Bellamy_. "Where are you coming from by the way, Cinderella?"

Clarke arched an eyebrow at the elaboration of her nickname. "I certainly wasn't visiting my prince charming like you."

Octavia paled, "That—that's not why—whatever." She caught a glimpse of something and smirked. "Bellamy is creeping in the shadows." She said in a low whisper, "Watch your back, princess." Clarke grimaced, rolling her eyes as she switched her direction to avoid the other Blake. She did not want to have another run-in with Bellamy—not after she erased small amounts of her stress.

But she never got what she wanted.

"Is that your new hangout spot?" Bellamy asked in a deep whisper, the sound of his boots moving in quick strides to keep up with her rapid increase in pace. After a few sharp turns, she was standing in front of her tent. She never spent much time in her tent, that being said, she knew Bellamy was a complete stranger it.

"What are you, a stalker?" She pulled back the flap, rolling her eyes as he stepped through. Her voice had too much annoyance in it for someone who was trying to avoid an argument. There was a faint blush on her face because he was so _fucking close_ when she joined him in her tight space. She exhaled sharply, "What I do in my spare time is my business, not yours. Stay out of it."

"There's a lot of hostility in your voice, Clarke." Bellamy tilted his head to the side, "I said I'm sorry. You don't usually hold grudges, which makes me think you're mad about something completely different other than the fact that I wasn't there to hold your hand during a surgery you would have kicked me out of in the first place." Bellamy was an observant asshole.

"I said," Her voice was hard, solid in her attempt to regain control of her emotions and her body. "Not. Good. Enough." The smell of sweat and dirt moved through her nose and sent an unreasonable tingle to her stomach. She recognized Bellamy's scent, loved his scent because it was _him _and no one else could smell like _him. _She felt oddly like an animal as her eyes traced over how the sleeves of his shirt were tighter than the rest of it because of his muscular arms. She bit her lip because she didn't know what else to do.

"What's going to be good enough for you, princess? Just tell me what you want." Her face contorted with his words. The seductive purr behind them caught her off guard, "Just tell me what you want…" He said as he stepped closer. "Do you want me?"

_Yes._

_Yes. _

_Yes. _

"I want you to be there for me." Clarke insisted, "As a partner." Her eyes gave it away, if her eyes hadn't dipped down his body for one last glance she could have gotten away with her obvious attraction to him. Her entire body was tense with desire.

"I can take care of you." He mused, his hand skimming down her arm softly. She shivered because this was what she wanted.

"Take care of me?" She snorted, her voice shaking as he continued to touch her. "Do I look like I need to be taken care of?"

His lips drifted over hers, "Yes."

**Review!**


End file.
